Revising. Making my plot race, my words sing.
No matter how hard this is, there isn’t anything I’d rather be in life. A writer, I mean. I’ve become very one-note when it comes to my aspirations. It’s all I want. It’s all I want to do.
I want things for other people, too. I want their dreams to come true. Those close to me, they know who they are. Especially the one I love: He helped me get to this moment. I want to help him get to his.
This dream is hard work. But I love a deadline. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The images featured with this post are of a piano left out in the street. Have you walked by it this weekend, too? It’s battered and broken, but I connect to it. Someone played it. Someone played it to death and beyond.